


Shrike

by Rhinocio



Category: Jak and Daxter
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:28:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29900415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhinocio/pseuds/Rhinocio
Summary: "You do it your way and I'll do it mine," is what Jak had told her, but he'd never been specific about what his way entailed. Keira abruptly learns that the Haven Experience is not one size fits all.
Relationships: Daxter & Jak, Daxter & Tess, Jak & Keira, Tess & Keira
Kudos: 14





	Shrike

**Author's Note:**

> @NaughtyDog hey “ur the best racer” isn’t an apology

Keira’s garage isn’t technically hers, but it might as well be. Sure, it’s a hole-in-the-wall neglected section of Haven City’s Stadium that was previously used for storage, but said storage boxes were moved by her effort, and its hooks and pulleys and tables were installed by her hand. The tools along the walls were earned with her own hard work; the only source of income paying the rent is what she makes from the machines she builds and repairs here. She’s come a long way from odd jobs at whatever shop in this horrible city would give her a moment to show them her skills.

It’s quiet, and lonely, and the tinny echoes of the concrete and chrome feel claustrophobic in a way the old wood of her father’s hut never did, but Keira’s proud of what she’s managed. She’s found honest work despite the scum of this terrible place.

Unlike Jak.

Oh, she’s still so mad at him! Having the gall to defend himself for working with the city’s kingpin, carrying a gun around like he’s one of those macho Krimzon Guard officers. The Jak she knew would have never! Keira’s been working her butt off to survive and to bring them all home and without shoving her hands into the filth of this place, but Jak – heroic, kind Jak! – is already so deep into the muck that she doesn’t recognize him anymore!

It isn’t the first time she’s stewed on this; in the weeks since she last spoke with Jak, she’s done little else but fume about their last interaction, hissing her frustration to the wheels and bolts of her most recent project. It is, however, the first time she’s been so thoroughly interrupted. 

Something smashes into the steel of the bay doors, rattling the metal plates and sending a deafening echo through the garage. Keira jumps, and grabs the nearest tool bigger than what’s in her hand – a hefty mallet – and calls, “Hello?!”

It can’t be shrapnel from the street that’s just tumbled her way, because the bay doors face the Arena. The only way for something to hit them would be is if it were steered past the posts that block the alleyway, meaning someone must have been driving. There’s a high chance it’s Erol, or some other racer looking for a quick fix for a faulty zoomer, but Keira hasn’t lasted this long in Haven without being cautious.

She can’t make out what the voice on the other door is saying right away, but as it nears her she hears, “–tellin’ ya, that’s loads better than this meathead can park. It’s a dang good thing there ain’t a test he’s gotta pass to drive ‘round here.”

“Still a little rough, Daxxie,” says a second voice breathlessly, urgently adding, “Go quick and get the door open, okay?”

“On it, sugar.” There’s rapping on the metal, and Keira sneaks closer, listening. “Hey, Keira, let us in! We’re in kind of a hurry here!”

She recognises that voice. “Daxter?”

“The one and only.”

“What are you doi–?”

“Listen, I’d love to chat, but I’m _really_ gonna need’ja to open the door, like _right now_.” He raps again, punctuating his point. “We got an express delivery here and it ain’t gonna stay hot much longer.” Keira shifts the lock and starts pulling the rope that hoists the doors up, disgruntled by his attitude but trusting that he’s not being a jerk for no reason. Daxter doesn’t stick around to harass her, strangely – he’s already zipped away, muttering to himself. “Aw, jeeze, big guy, yer supposed to keep that stuff _in_ ya, c’mon, I get that you wanna be generous, but–”

Whatever else he’s going on about is lost to Keira once the door is hoisted over her head. There’s a smoking zoomer tilted haphazardly against the brick wall between the doors – a Skyrocket F600, though its rear fin has been broken clear off – with two people on it. One she doesn’t recognize. The other is Jak.

He doesn’t move when she yelps his name. He doesn’t move at all, except to slide sideways when the person behind him – some blonde with a cropped jacket and tall shin guards – tries to dismount. 

“Oh rats, oh shoot, he’s so dang heavy!” the blonde babbles, tightening her grip around his chest and trying to simultaneously climb off the zoomer while also pushing him back on. Jak’s head lolls sideways, and anger roils in Keira’s stomach at the sight of him pillowed on the woman’s frankly enormous breasts. Daxter gives Jak’s shoulder a pointless shove. There’s a graceless shuffling of bodies as Jak’s weight shifts too far and he pitches off the vehicle; the woman has enough of him held that his head doesn’t hit the pavement, at least.

“They’re still lookin’,” Daxter mutters, skittering between the woman and the entrance of the alleyway. He doesn’t offer to help as she starts dragging Jak’s unconscious form towards the doors, but then, he’s probably too small to be useful anyway. 

“Oh, heya, cutie,” says the woman as the garage light hits her face. There’s a kind smile cutting her cheeks – and also a considerable amount of blood. “I’m Tess, and this is a lot of work all by my lonesome. You wanna grab this big boy’s feet?”

Keira can’t help staring at Jak’s limp body. He’s even bloodier. “Is… is he okay?”

“He’ll be better when I’m not scuffin’ him across the pavement, I think,” says Tess. Behind her, Daxter has made a running leap onto the smoking zoomer, and somehow convinces it to putter its way farther down the alley. Keira forces her fingers to let go of the door hoist and ducks into the night. Jak _is_ heavy, which surprises her as much as it doesn’t – the Jak she remembers was half as muscular as he is now. Tess readjusts her grip. “Lift with your legs, now.”

Her thighs are half the size of this woman’s, but Keira tries her best. They manage to get him into the building, by any count. 

“You got somewhere we can put him, honey?” asks Tess, and Keira points to the couch that flanks her work desk with a nod. Her back is screaming at her, but they waddle their way across the room and she doesn’t let go once; Tess’ hands keep slipping off because of all the blood. It’s a victory.

They position Jak at the base of the ratty old sofa, and Keira quickly clears it of the garbage and spare parts it's been holding. Tess nudges her out of the way, then squats over the middle of his body. She shoves hands under his knees and waist and takes a single bracing breath – and then heaves. 

For a second, she’s got all hundred-and-a-half pounds of him in her arms. Then her legs flex, and Jak is dumped into the cushions with a loud _whoomph!_

“Tessie, baby, remind me to remind you yer the hottest woman on the entire _planet_ ,” says Daxter, skittering into the room. He glances down the alley one last time before unhooking the door rope so it’ll clatter back into place. He’s already clambering up the couch by the time it’s slammed closed. “Buddy boy here’d be singin’ yer praises too if he weren’t nappin’ on the job.”

“You keep him up at all hours, Daxxie, of course he’s sleepy,” says Tess. She’s already making herself at home in the garage, throwing back the curtain into the back room as if she owns the place. Keira bristles.

“Hey! Get out of there! That’s private!” she barks, rushing after. This is _her_ garage!

“This place got a med pack, sugar?” says the larger woman, opening cabinets at her own whim and shutting them just as quickly. She’s raiding the building the same way Jak and Daxter used to dig through her father’s hut for snacks, unwilling to stop for anything. Keira’s about to scold her again when Tess leans up to shout, “How many does he need?”

“Aw hell,” Daxter shouts back, “As many as y’can get me!”

“Med pack?” Tess asks again, flicking her eyes to Keira. “Jak’s not doing so good.”

Concern overtakes indignation; Keira shoves her out of the way and makes for the kitchenette. It isn’t a big space; the med pack that the arena management gave her when she moved in is just the right size to fit between the sink’s pipes and the little garbage bin below. Tess reaches for it as she stands up, but Keira keeps a firm grip on the metal handle and pushes past her to bring it to the main room herself.

She’s known Jak longer, and this woman’s already had her hands all over him. Any idiot can open a health pack and soak up the distilled eco inside, but Keira’s father was a green eco sage, and trained her in how to boost its effects. She’s no expert, of course, but she knows something about first aid and how to seal up minor lacerations.

Jak’s injuries are hardly minor, though. The ring and belts he keeps around his chest have been wiggled free, but his blue shirt is clinging to at least three gunshot wounds. His entire front is black with drying blood. She’s never seen carnage like this, and it makes her nauseous if she looks too long, but she braces herself to try anyway. Keira takes a shaking breath, then readies bandages and all she has of the kit’s green eco. Daxter stops her the moment she cracks the canister open.

“Give it,” he says, expectant paw thrown out. It’s coated up to the elbow with various shades of red.

“Daxter, I’ve had more practice with healing,” she says tightly, stepping around him and reaching for Jak’s chest. He hasn’t even cleared the injured area, for Precursors’ sake! 

She doesn’t get very far. Daxter leaps in front of her and snatches the container from her hand. His claws catch her, and it feels intentional. 

Keira stares. Daxter bares his teeth.

They’ve never gotten along. But he’s never been this _nasty._

“Turn around. Stare at the wall for a minute,” says the ottsel, looking back at Jak and chewing on his lip. “Better yet, get outta the room. You mind gettin’ us somethin’ to drink, Tessie? Harder the better. I’m thinkin’ 95 proof, somethin’ strong enough to strip paint. You know what I like.”

“You got it,” says Tess, but Keira isn’t so easily deterred – if Daxter’s thinking about _alcohol_ at a time like this, then how can she trust him to be focused enough to keep Jak alive? She kneels down at Jak’s side and grabs one of his hands. 

“I’m not leaving him,” she says defiantly. 

Daxter whirls on her, and the snarl that leaves his mouth has never sounded so animal. 

The blatant aggression is so unlike him that she flinches. Jak’s fingers fall back onto the cushion. Tess takes the opportunity to grab her around the shoulders and steer her from the room. Keira comes back to her senses just as the curtain to the back room flips closed; Tess pulls her away when she tries to look back. She fights the grip.

How dare this stranger come in and manhandle her! How dare Daxter be so cruel – he isn’t the only one who cares about Jak! The most he’ll do with the medicine is pour it over Jak’s bloody shirt and waste half! She could _help!_ This is _her_ garage, and that’s _her_ eco, and the boy _she’s_ loved since childhood! 

“Let me go! Let me _go!”_

“Not if you’re gonna run back in there, honeydew, boys got their pride,” says Tess with infuriating lightness, tugging her back towards the kitchen. “We’re all worried about Jak, but Daxxie’s the best fella for the job.”

“No he _isn’t!_ Daxter hasn’t studied eco a day in his _life!_ Let go of me! _”_ Keira leans backwards, resisting the constant pull of Tess’ grip with her entire body’s weight. Being petite has never been so frustrating. She wants to know what’s going on! She wants to help! She wants to know– “Why did they _shoot_ him?!”

The dam breaks abruptly – hot tears flood Keira’s eyes and choke her. She folds forward, and Tess’ pull is suddenly far too strong to resist. She’s led into the kitchen again, and dumped with little grace into the one folding chair inside. Wet fury surges through her fingers where they’re pressed to her face, and trembling fear rattles in her chest with every breath. 

Tess – this unknown, horribly beautiful woman who’s apparently allowed to touch Jak even when _she_ isn’t – clatters through the cupboards for a while. She eventually walks back down the hall to shout, “I don’t think she’s got anything!”

“ _Fuck!_ ” Daxter screeches. The sharpness of the curse sends another wave of heaving sobs through Keira’s lungs. This is so _wrong –_ Jak is supposed to be invincible, an untouchable hero! He’s never so much as broken a bone, let alone been _shot_ at! 

A hand touches her shoulder, and she can tell Tess is squatting in front of her. She doesn’t even reward her with a glare. 

“I know everything’s really scary right this sec. Best way to get through it is take a couple deep breaths, okay? Daxter’s gonna get Jak all fixed up. We can help him by stayin’ calm and out of the way.”

Keira calms her gasping long enough to bite out, “Go pound sand.”

“That’s the spirit!” Tess pats her shoulder jovially. “You don’t have any hidden stashes of alcohol around here, do you, sugar? I make a mean daiquiri _and_ molotov, but just about anything’ll do right now.”

She sucks back another round of tears and wipes her hands over her face, then shrugs.

Tess’ expression grows serious. “It’s for Jak, for cleaning him up,” she says, as if it’s completely obvious. It occurs to Keira that making mixed drinks was a joke, and that _this_ is what Daxter was suggesting earlier. How Tess had understood what he’d wanted is beyond her. “We drug him through some nasty spots to get here, and those wounds need sanitizing, y’know?”

Fear cinches around her lungs again. Keira shakes her head.

“Alright. You know anywhere nearby that’ll have any more green eco?” 

“The stadium has a few, um– in the pit there’s one, and the– uh, the– _I know this,_ the–” Keira grunts and slaps her hands on her knees, almost as furious at her own brain as the situation and the woman and Daxter. Why can’t she remember?! 

“It’s the shock, hon,” Tess supplies, “Take your time.”

“The room with all the pipes, it’s how they put out the zoomer fires,” she says eventually, because that’s close enough. “There might be another one at the finish line, but it keeps getting stolen.”

Tess nods, then takes off down the hall again to relay the information. She and Daxter converse through the curtain back and forth a few times – why doesn’t she just _go in the room?_ – and then when she returns explains, “Daxxie’s gonna just slip out and grab those packs quick as a wink. Less likely to get noticed, since he’s so _widdle,_ you know?”

“He’s… _what?_ ” 

“Itty bitty! Fuzzy-wuzzy!” Tess exclaims, clapping as if she’s explaining something to a toddler. The abrupt change in her demeanor yanks Keira firmly out of her panic and into baffled exasperation. “He’s all slinky and small and can slip past all those nasty Guards without anyone catching him! Did he tell you he used to wiggle all through the vents in old houses to fight those horrible little metalhead bugs?”

Keira doesn’t want to think about Daxter or insects. She wants to know that Jak’s not bleeding to death. She roughly wipes her face and shoves herself off her chair, only to have Tess move in front of the door. 

“Nuh-unh, we’re stayin’ back here,” she says, and despite the saccharine tone of her words Keira can tell she’s serious. “Daxxie gave the order for a reason. Gotta love a guy who’s a little bossy, hey?”

“Get out of my way.”

“No can do, sweetiepie.”

“Daxter _left!_ ” Keira shouts, throwing her arms up. “Nobody’s in there with Jak, which means nobody’s putting pressure on his _gunshot wounds_ , and I’m not gonna let him _die_ in the next room just because you’ve got a thing for a fuzzy little–!”

The distant clatter of metal boots hitting pavement isn’t loud, but it stops the two of them where they stand. Tess brushes past her to part the shutters on the kitchen window and peer out towards the entrance of the alleyway. It’s hardly necessary, because the moment she lets out a hissed, “Oh, _drat,”_ is the moment the approaching militia start speaking, and their distorted, “Copy, investigating the area,” reveals exactly who they are.

The Krimzon Guard haven’t ever had much reason to bother Keira, because she’s kept her head down and her actions on the right side of the law, however corrupt it might be. She’s had them sweep through the garage before, always asking invasive questions and touching things she’d rather they didn’t, but always come out unscathed. Sure, she doesn’t trust them, but letting them stomp around in her business hasn’t ever been a problem, because they’re just looking for criminals she’s obviously not harbouring.

“C’mon,” whispers Tess, closing the blinds and firmly grabbing Keira’s hand. They rush towards the Rift Rider room on light feet – when the larger woman reaches for the curtain separating the rooms, Keira can’t help rolling her eyes.

“What, _now_ it’s fine to go into the roo–?!” she starts, but is cut off by a firm hand over her mouth.

“If we don’t go in now, our friend is going to be either arrested or killed,” Tess snaps in a whisper. There’s a dangerous glint in her eyes. “I need you to hit the lights on this whole place. Give us a blackout.”

Keira chokes on her own words. She remembers, suddenly, that Jak has gotten himself mixed in with the city’s biggest criminal. That he carries a gun. That there are rumours about him, about how he grows angry and monstrous, how he’s hurt people. Keira has no reason to worry about the Guard, but they’re not here for her. They’re here for the criminal she _is_ now harbouring.

Her limbs lock up. Her fury over Jak’s choices rears its head again, flanked by an uncontrollable fear.

She’s going to watch him be killed. She’s going to be arrested, and Jak’s going to die, and Daxter’s going to come back to an empty garage because the Guard are _right outside_ and she can’t stop them from coming in. They have to know someone’s already here, because there are windows above the bay doors, and the garage lights are bright enough to create spotlights in the alleyway.It doesn’t _matter_ if she turns them off, they’re gonna–

“ _Keira._ ”

The wrenching grip on her arm throttles her thoughts mid-sentence. Tess pulls her into the room and then shoves her towards the fuse box on the far side.

“Lights off. _Now.”_

It’s been a long, long time since Keira has seen her father, but the command sounds so very like him. She hurries to follow, dodging around mechanical shrapnel and cracking the box open with a whack of her fist. She turns to watch the building grow dark as she slams each switch – first her bedroom, the kitchen, her workbench, then over the rift rider. Before the last spotlight dies, she sees Tess kneel down near Jak, and rise with his gun in hand.

Tess doesn’t have to tell her to stay silent. The slowly approaching clacking of Guard boots and muttering over their comms is enough to scare sound clear out of her lungs. 

The room is so black. She hears more than sees Tess moving towards her, noiseless as a shadow.

“No matter what happens, keep your head down,” says the other woman, reaching out blindly to touch Keira’s side. She wants so badly to grasp at the reassurance, pull Tess around her like a shield and close her eyes to this nightmare of a moment, but Keira can’t get herself to move. Air is trapped in her throat, tight and sharp.

“I’m scared,” she hears herself whimper.

“I know,” Tess says, “It’s okay.”

A fist raps on the garage doors, loudly and impatiently, and Keira nearly screams. She ducks down behind a shop table instead; Tess crouches beside her, slowly pulling her hand back and wrapping it instead around the trigger of the gun. 

“Krimzon Guard! Open for inspection of the premises!”

Neither woman speaks. The Guardsman hits the door again, more aggressively. 

“Open, under the command of the Baron! Refuse and we are authorized to shoot!”

Tears burn at Keira’s eyes. Her heart is far too loud – they _must_ be able to hear it! That’s how they know there’s someone here. It’s going to be her fault that they find Jak! She’s always let them in before – it’s suspicious that she isn’t doing it now!

Keira makes to move, to go to the door herself, to turn them away – Tess’s hand returns.

“Deep breaths,” she whispers. “I won’t let them hurt you.”

“But _Jak,_ ” Keira gasps, “He’s–” 

There’s a faint series of clangs from the back room. Something moves in the dark, smaller than either of them, flitting under the curtain and across tabletops. Only when it sits up on the back of the couch does Keira recognize the shape. She taps the metal toolbox at her side as softly as she can, and two shimmering yellow eyes turn their way.

Daxter rushes to meet them as fast as silence will allow. The one time he trips matches near-perfectly with another bang on the door and an angry, “Open the door!”

“Imagine me meetin’ lovely ladies like you in a place like this,” says the ottsel under his breath, but there’s no enthusiasm in the joke. He glances back. “Listen, I got some of the glowin’ green shit for Jak, but if he don’t wake up, I–”

Something fascinating happens then: Daxter admits a weakness.

“I can’t get him outta here, Tess,” he hisses, upset broiling through his voice. 

Tess rises to her feet. 

“They’re looking for a blonde to chase,” she says decisively, “So I’ll give ‘em one. Mind if I borrow Jakky’s gun?”

There’s a long, anxious pause.

“Aw jeeze, baby, yeah, just–” If Keira didn’t know any better, she’d swear Daxter was fighting tears. “Don’t you come back to me lookin’ like the big guy did, got that? He’ll lose his mind if you return that thing all rusted up with blood ‘n chum.”

“Won’t be mine,” Tess whispers, and like a shot they both take off into the darkness. Keira squints from her place under the table, watching as the larger shadow traces the side wall with a blind hand, looking for the single door that breaks out directly into the street. The smaller slithers across the floor and then back onto the couch, and flickers of green light appear from that direction as he starts cracking eco canisters open.

There’s a countdown from Tess’ direction, muttered so softly that Keira can barely hear it, and then a deafening crash as she slams the bar on the door and ducks out into the street.

The crashing and yelling that comes afterwards is a furious cacophony of sound that’s nearly impossible to make sense of – Krimzon Guard shout to each other, and at passers-by, and at Tess; a crunch of metal and prolonged horn suggest a vehicle’s been destroyed or commandeered; armoured footsteps rush past the door, and the sharp whistling and explosions of gunfire pepper the air. 

They gradually sound farther away, though, and that’s something.

Soft noises replace the loud ones as the eco does its healing work and Jak starts to stir. A moan, the rustle of hair on fabric, and Daxter’s muttering fill the vacuum of chaos; the ottsel swears when Jak’s grunts start becoming louder and more awake.

“Hey, hit a light for me,” he calls, and Keira awkwardly clambers out of her hiding space. Her arms are shaking as she fumbles with the power box and flicks a switch at random. The incandescent bulbs over her work table sputter to life, casting long shadows across the room and brightening Daxter’s fur to a neon against the dark. 

Jak thrashes; his eyes are wide and dilated when they snap open and immediately search the room.

“Dax?” he chokes.

“Right here, babe,” says Daxter quickly, jumping into his field of vision. “Hold the fuck still, alright?” His small body pitches up and down at alarming speed with the rate of Jak’s breathing, but it doesn’t seem to deter the ottsel’s attentions. He methodically checks over each of the wounds on Jak’s chest, grumbling, “Figures y’couldn’t get shot all clean ‘n tidy-like. Gonna be findin’ this shit in my hair for a month. It’ll be like the sewage all over again.”

Keira climbs carefully towards them, scooting trays and toolboxes to the side to make any secondary runs to the power box easier. She’s quiet about it, though the threat of the Krimzon Guard seems to have passed; Jak doesn’t notice her in his surveillance of the room. By the time she’s come into the cascade of light, in fact, he seems to be fading back to unconsciousness. His skin is pale, made shiny by sweat and gaunt by the deep shadows the lamp over her workbench is throwing over him. The dried blood splattered across his skin is starting to flake, and his chest–

It’s suddenly very apparent why he’d wanted her out of the room before. 

“Daxter,” Keira breathes, the words breaking in her throat, “What _happened_ to him?” 

The ottsel’s ears flatten against his skull, but he doesn’t turn to face her. He tugs at what’s left of the lapel of Jak’s shirt, though it’s far too torn to properly hide anything, and the gesture is far too late. Keira’s eyes are already locked onto the vicious spiderweb of scars etched onto his breastbone. It reminds her of the burn scars she’d once seen on a yakow back in Sandover who’d miraculously survived a lightning strike, though under the mass of distorted flesh are finer, more precise lines, drawn across Jak’s body like they were carved with careful knives. 

“Two years in prison, remember?” Daxter sighs.

“I thought– I knew he was locked up,” she mumbles, crouching by the couch and holding its arm for support. Her stomach roils at the closeness, though the coppery scent of the blood isn’t nearly as upsetting as the disfigurement of scar tissue shimmering underneath it. She hesitantly reaches outward, but can’t bring herself to confirm the sight is real; instead she moves to brush back the hair stuck to Jak’s forehead.

Daxter’s paw stops her short.

“Don’t,” he says. When he finally looks at her, there’s a dullness in his eyes that matches his voice. “S’not you specifically, toots. Just people. Don’t touch him.”

Keira tucks her arm reluctantly back against her stomach. 

“I didn’t… think,” she whispers eventually, which is the understatement of the millenia. She had heard the rumours, knew that Jak had gotten on the bad side of the law, and had learned very quickly upon arriving in Haven City that the Baron and his Guard were not to be messed with. But she’d thought… well, of course she’d believed that Jak had just been confused for an actual criminal. He’d be held up in prison, but that was a mistake. Her Jak was a troublemaker, but never evil, never dangerous. She’d thought they had just finally realized their error, and… “How did he get out?”

“I got’m.” Daxter doesn’t sound proud.

“How did he– why did they shoot at him, Daxter?” Keira says, swallowing as her throat grows tight. “Why would they want to hurt him this badly?”

He crosses his legs and sits on Jak’s sternum, his tail curling to cover the worst of the scars. Daxter’s paws – small and clawed and bristled with coarse fur – flick the rogue strands of hair off of Jak’s forehead. It must be the difference that makes them safe; Jak doesn’t stir at the touch.

“How’d you get here?” he asks. “When we got our asses blasted into Haven, where’d you go?”

Keira doesn’t want to recount the story – not in general, especially not to Daxter. The first few weeks she spent in Haven City, lost and alone, were the worst of her life. She’d been repeatedly ignored when she’d gone looking for help, had even had guns thrust in her face as the locals pushed her away. She’d discovered very quickly that she couldn’t trust the Guard. She’d thought, curled up under the porch of a building that was crumbling away, that she was going to die here, starving and freezing and dehydrated from all her crying. 

But Keira had always been stubborn. Inspired by the very ottsel before her, Keira had cranked up her charisma and started shoving her foot in the door of every mechanical shop in the city, pitching her skills until she was offered a job. They weren’t usually long-term gigs, but even doing a single task meant money in her pocket, and food in her belly.

She impressed the right person. Or the wrong person, depending on how you looked at it. The guy worked for Krew, the city’s scumball crime lord, and had gotten her a position here, at the city’s racing stadium. She was far enough removed from Krew to be still doing legal activity, the zoomers she worked on were top of the line, the garage was hers to sleep and work in, and she got paid enough to both feed herself and slowly start collecting parts for the Rift Rider – for a way back _home._

“Got lucky,” is what she says.

Daxter nods. 

“Glad it worked out for ya,” he replies, and Keira’s pretty sure he means it. “Didn’t work out so well for Jak. He didn’t just sit in a cage when they had’m, ya feel me? And they don’t like that he broke out.”

“They want to arrest him again?”

“Or kill’m,” shrugs Daxter.

The realization settles like a heavy blanket over her shoulders, and Keira hunches against the weight. She’d been so proud of herself for scraping herself out of the gutter and into a safe corner of this dystopia they’d all found themselves in, and so sure that her experience had been the worst any of them would have to suffer. Her father was powerful in the ways of eco, and would know how to survive. Jak and Daxter were never apart, and she knew they would manage as long as they were together. She’d never thought any of them could sink to the level of the people in Haven, these selfish, murdering, poverty-stricken civilians who sold each other out for petty crimes, and so she’d been furious – and hurt, it _hurt_ – when Jak had shown up looking and acting like one of them.

Her eyes start to burn, and so Keira presses them into her knees.

“Where’d you meet Tess?” she asks, because it’s territory her trembling voice is still willing to tread.

“Workin’ with the Underground. Ain’t she somethin’?” He sounds genuinely fond.

“The Underground?”

“Bunch of nutters shovin’ it up the Baron’s ass,” Daxter snorts. “We run crappy jobs for ‘em sometimes, fix stuff Praxis breaks. I wanna be the first to skin the fucker, and they’re our best bet, so I brought Jak to the Underground as eye candy. They had to let a kid this good lookin’ into the club, right?” He rolls the shredded remains of Jak’s shirt over his fingers a few times. “They got a place we can crash, anyway.”

The reflex to offer her own garage as a home rushes to the end of her tongue and then stops. Instead, Keira asks, “Is it always that dangerous working for the Underground?”

“S’dangerous doing everythin’ in this place,” says the ottsel frankly, pressing a hand to his brow and then cursing when he realizes he’s wiping blood into new sections of his pelt. “You mind grabbin’ us some water? I deserve a bath with all the fixin’s, but I’ll settle fer a wet wipe at this point.”

Whether he asks for his own sake or because he’s noticed the tears in her eyes is a moot point; Keira rises quickly and leaves the room. She sweeps behind the curtain and wipes roughly at her face, sucking a breath in. Having a task helps keep her from breaking down completely – the walk to the kitchen gives her feet something to do, and searching for a mug and potable water does likewise for her hands. There isn’t much else she can offer, she realizes, given her empty cupboards and barren pantry. 

The single glass feels like too little, when she returns to the garage. It’s a paltry offering before the mess of an alter that her couch has become. Drops and long streaks of blood have painted the concrete floor leading to it like a gruesome red carpet, and the whole area is still caught in the stark relief of the lamp.

Daxter has curled up completely under Jak’s chin, one hand fisted stiffly in the collar of his shirt. His willingness to be so close despite the smell and carnage speaks to what a close call Jak’s injuries were, as does the fact that he’s completely passed out. His soft snores sound like home.

Keira sets the glass quietly on the nearest bench and watches them for a long moment. Seeing them bloodstained, exhausted, and miserable has thrown her off balance in the worst possible way; Daxter calling it _normal_ has ripped the rug out from under her feet. Have they been living like this since the moment they crash-landed in Haven? Does Jak go through every day with the risk of a bullet being shot into his back? The Daxter she remembers was always skittish and cowardly, but throughout all the chaos of their visit, this Daxter had been calm – how many times has he saved his best friend from near death? 

Keira presses her fist to her mouth as shame floods up her throat. She can’t stop the tears this time, though squashes the sound as best she can. She thought she’d seen the worst of this city when she’d had to claw her way to a steady income. She knows now that if what she’s seen of the Underground resistance is any indication, she’d only scratched the surface of the danger and heartache this place could create. 

She had been so angry to see Jak roughened up by Haven, but Haven hadn’t been gentle to him for a _second._

Putting together a plan and acting on it happens on some kind of subconscious level – Keira can’t remember walking to her bedroom and fishing out the small stash of credits under the mattress. She vaguely recalls snatching her oversized jacket from the workbench and locking the garage behind herself as she stepped out into the night. She only wakes from the torment doing cycles in her head when she finds herself in front of the closest thing her sector of the city has to a general store. It’s late, but the neon lights are still lit, and there isn’t a curfew here like there is in the slums. 

The thing is, Keira can’t be like Tess. She can’t arm herself with a gun, antagonize the Guard into a wild goose chase, or deadlift grown men. As much as she might never admit it out loud, Keira is proud that establishing herself in Haven has never required such dirty work – even if she could manage it, the idea of becoming like the Underground woman turns her stomach. She doesn’t want violence and danger to become her normal.

But Daxter said the Underground gave him and Jak somewhere to crash, and _that’s_ a game she’s willing to play. 

First she grabs a couple of shirts, oversized and with high collars. Then whatever food hasn’t already been picked over – ration bars are tasteless, and the jerky is of mysterious origin, but they’ll last forever. She stocks up on dry grain and beans, and fishes out the last turnip from the dusty storage bin on the floor. She picks out a bar of soap, and then turns to the locked cases of health packs. They’re far too expensive for most civilians to buy, and are stocked mostly for the Guard. 

Keira glances towards the shopkeeper, who’s busy with someone else, takes a shaking breath, and slips a multitool from her pocket. She cracks the bottom shelf’s lock within a minute, her hammering heartbeat counting the seconds. The metal bars will creak if she opens it too far; shoving her hand under the grate gets her only one pack. 

She bites her lip and focuses hard, just like her father taught her, and wills the green eco to her. She’s never been a channeller, not like Jak, but after a prayer and curse, a second canister haltingly drifts into her waiting hand. The moment she’s got a grip, Keira shoves it into her shirt, shuts the grate, and stands. 

The shopkeeper doesn’t comment on the sweat that’s gathered at her hairline. He charges her an exorbitant amount for the soap, but the tradeoff feels fair for the green eco she’s smuggling out. She bundles everything within one of the shirts and steps back into the night. She spends the entire walk home with her head down and eyes scouring the dark streets for flashes of Krimzon red; the urge to break into a run nips at her heels the whole way.

She opens the door to the garage with too much force, but by the time the key hits the lock, her anxiety has hit the roof. Keira stands with the goods clenched to her chest and her forehead against the cold metal, trembling through every limb.

When she finally turns to face the room, there’s a set of eyes watching her.

Freezing is the reflexive action. Keira fights back against it. She marches across the dark concrete and kneels, unfolding the shirt and setting its contents against the couch. Jak’s gaze is burning into her, but she can’t bring herself to meet it, at least until she pulls the health packs out of her pants and tank top and sets them on the floor with a sharp _clack_ and hears him inhale sharply.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, nervous to startle him further, “Didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“Are you okay?” he asks, because of course he does _._ The rasp of his voice is unfamiliar, but even in the dimness his eyes are the same rich blue, and crinkled in the same earnest way she’s known all her life. Her Jak still exists, under the blood and rage and overgrown hair, and he’s still unbearably kind.

“Are _you?”_ she hisses back, and hates that it sounds angry. The fact that this is the first time Keira’s seeing just how distorted Jak’s _normal_ is bothers her. Her garage isn’t the default place Jak returns to when things are easy, because she rarely sees him, and she doubts it was Daxter’s first choice for when things broke bad. They’ve been keeping this whole dark existence they’re living a secret because they can’t trust her. 

Couldn’t trust her, anyway, but they’re here now. Keira isn’t convinced this will be the last time Jak barely escapes death. Maybe he didn’t want her involved because he was trying to protect her – it doesn’t matter. Her home is painted with the evidence of his bloody arrival, and if she has it her way, it’ll mark a path back to a place he can return. 

She nods at the goods on the floor. “Take the eco with you. I’ll get some more and hide it here just in case. Throw your old shirt in the barrel by the door when you go and I’ll burn it.”

Jak tries to sit up, but stiffens at the evident soreness of his chest and the ottsel sprawled over it. Keira almost gives him a push back into the cushions to hit the point home, but then she remembers Daxter’s warning and keeps her hands to herself. His mouth works soundlessly for a moment before he settles on a gruff, “Sorry.”

“For _what?_ ” she has to ask. 

Jak has never looked so out of his element. “For– showing up here. I didn’t know that’s what Dax was doing.”

“You didn’t–” Keira presses her face into her hands. “Of _course_ you didn’t, Jak, you were _bleeding to death!_ And why _wouldn’t_ I want you here?!” She can’t believe how stupid boys are. This one, specifically, who continues to stare at her like she’s crazy. Her heart cinches up in her chest and sends heat back to her tired eyes. “When did my garage stop being our home base? I know this isn’t Sandover, and I know I’m not a– a _vigilante_ like you, but I’m still here, and I still want to help!”

Jak glances awkwardly around the room, at the work desk and floor and where he’s got a hand resting over Daxter’s back. 

“You didn’t want to be involved,” is what he settles on, “That’s what you– why we argued.”

“I didn’t want _you_ involved, Jak!” She isn’t sure if it’s the words or the tears that plummet over her eyelashes that shut him up, but Keira’s glad for it, because if she doesn’t clear the air then she’s going to lose her mind. They haven’t spoken – she hasn’t even _seen_ him – in weeks. The last conversation they’d had had ended with her uncomfortable attempt at a truce and Jak storming away in a cloud of rage. If she’d known what his life in Haven was like then, if he’d _told_ her why he was so defensive of his grungy, dangerous Havenite lifestyle, then she wouldn’t have been so aggressive about her hatred for it. She could have helped him get out of it, worked to soften the shape of him back into something familiar. She could have been a _support_ for him.

But Keira knew Jak wasn’t a talker, and the sour guilt roiling in her stomach reminds her she hadn’t given him the space to try anyway.

“I don’t _like_ what you’re doing, and it scares me, but I–” she grabs at one of the health packs and waves it while she wrangles her voice back under control. “You _always_ came to me for help. I can build things, and I can _get_ things for you, I have connections with the Stadium, I– you’re _already_ involved, Jak! I _hate_ that! I hate that Haven changed you!” Jak flinches; Keira ignores the rule and grabs his fingers, tugging him back. “But I haven’t changed, okay? I’m still here, and if this can’t be your home base. It– it can at least be _a_ home base.” 

The room echoes in the wake of her rambling, and Jak doesn’t say a thing (nor move, which for all intents and purposes would also count as conversation from him). Keira sniffs back her tears and tosses the eco back onto the pile of goods on the floor. “Listen, it’s there if you want it. Eco, clothes, soap. Shower’s in the back.”

She squeezes his fingers and miserably climbs to her feet. Jak hangs on.

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

It’s late – past midnight and into the early hours of the morning, if Keira had to guess. But Jak notices the blood he’s left on her hand from his own, and that motivates him to take her up on the offer of a bath. She doesn’t offer to help him up off the couch; the way he ducks from her sight as he realizes the state of his shirt is enough to convince Keira it’s better not to. Jak jostles Daxter awake, an action met with loud indignation and then relief, and they find their own way to the tiny stall of a bathroom Keira calls hers, though Jak stumbles every other step. 

She could clean up the floor while they’re gone, but the mess looks even more gruesome without proof of its owner’s liveliness, so she leaves it. The kitchen is more inviting, even with its grimy fluorescent lighting. 

Keira’s drunk halfway through her mug of hot water and has just clicked off the hot plate that makes up her cooking stove when the boys return. Jak’s still pale, but no longer looks corpse-like without the body paint of his own viscera. His long hair lays dark and even longer around his neck, weighed down with moisture. Daxter stinks like damp animal, but his fur gleams as he scrambles up onto the table.

“Loving this extra-early B&B service,” he says, standing up on his tiptoes to see what she’s making. “Cold shower, beans for breakfast, no bed…” 

“You had the couch,” sighs Keira, reaching into a drawer for spoons.

“And had to share it. You’re sleeping on the floor next time, big guy. I tell ya, I’m gonna have the worst crick in my–” he’s cut off as a soft pinging catches his attention, and Daxter quickly throws himself off the table and halfway up Jak’s pant leg to yank a communicator from his pocket. His ears fold back as he flips it open, betraying his relief even as he scoffs, “A booty call at this hour, honestly!”

Tess doesn’t stay on the line long, but knowing she made it back to one of the Underground’s safehouses visibly relaxes both of the boys. Keira is almost surprised at her own gladness, given how antagonistic Tess had been to her. She’s even more surprised when Daxter throws her the phone.

“Don’t eat up my minutes,” he warns, shoveling food into his face and waving her off with his utensil. He smacks Jak’s hand with it to regain his attention and continues the story of how they came to the garage in the first place. Keira ducks just into the hallway and holds the communicator close; the screen has no image but text that reads “blocked number”. 

“Hey, honey, just wanted to check up on you,” says Tess, which is a baffling statement on its own. Keira stares at the communicator for long enough that the woman on the other line repeats her name several times. 

“I’m sorry,” she blurts, “For yelling at you.”

“Oh, stress makes people do the darndest things. Don’t worry about it.”

“But you saved my life,” Keira insists, “And Jak’s.”

“Are you saved my back,” Tess jokes, with a laugh that’s far too genuine. “He’s a hefty boy, for being so short! I don’t think I’d’ve been able to drive at all if I’d had to do all the lifting myself. Would’ve had to hobble my whole way home.” It’s hard to tell whether Tess is legitimately this gentle or if it’s a character she plays, and it occurs to Keira how very little she knows about the Underground and what they do. It’s hard to coincide the two versions of her – the giggly dumb blond and the serious vigilante. Keira doesn’t want to become so two-faced, doesn’t want to change like Jak did into something only Haven City can make, but there may be something to be said for adaptation.

“Can I ask you something?” she says, sliding down into a seat against the wall. She can just see Jak and Daxter at the table from where she’s at, and their exaggerated gestures to one another and Daxter’s loud chattering feel like a snapshot from Sandover.

“Of course!”

Keira isn’t going to turn into whatever the boys are now, nor does she want to take up the dangerous mantle that Tess carries for the resistive force to the Baron. But she meant what she said to Jak – she has a safe space here, a little corner carved out within the city walls, and she wants its doors open.

“What kind of things does an Underground safehouse need to carry?” she asks, “Because I’ve got a place you can add to your list.”


End file.
